


The Contingency Plan (but not the Best Plan)

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When asked, Lady Sif will always insist it was all a minor misunderstanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Contingency Plan (but not the Best Plan)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a [norsekink prompt](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/9985.html?thread=20869889#t20869889) involving Sif, the Warriors 3, and wedding shenanigans.

When asked, Lady Sif will always insist that it was all a minor misunderstanding, nothing to be concerned with any longer. If nearby, as they usually are, the Warriors Three offer their own enthusiastic agreements — Hogun with a nod and grunt, and Fandral and Volstagg with more vigorous nodding and loud exclamations of their Lady Sif’s honesty. They prove to be a highly convincing group, as it is easy to be blinded by their earnest expressions as well as the gleam of their rather sharp weapons.

No one presses the matter, ever.

But many attendees of the royal wedding still can’t help but wonder if there is more to the story of their curiously missing second prince.

“He did manage to show up,” Fandral will often point out, almost nervously, “at the end. He was merely late, not missing. Is that not all that truly matters?”

“I suppose you’re right,” many will murmur back, leaving with their curiosities wholly unsatisfied.

-

“Now, she was in disguise,” is the first thing Fandral says when he gathers his closest friends, sans but one, outside the ceremonial hall. They stand beneath a private overhang and crowd around a small, floral wedding decoration.

“It matters not,” Lady Sif says, immediate, “as you still should have known better.”

Fandral sputters. “You don’t even know what I’ve to say. There is yet more to my tale.”

Sif remains indifferent. “Again, matters not. I have little doubt what I’ve said is applicable, still.”

Unfortunately, she is right. This does not, however, alleviate the unpleasant look on his face as he recounts his encounter with Amora the Enchantress.

-

When Fandral finishes speaking, Sif swings the blunt side of her sword against his head.

He manages to dodge, but by just a hair.

Hogun the Grim continues to look his namesake, offering no help. Volstagg, with one meaty hand laid upon Sif’s sword arm, shakes his head sadly and says, “I knew it was a mistake of Thor to hand you the rings for safekeeping. Such folly on his part.”

“You are all my closest of comrades.” Fandral regards them closely. “And this is all you have to offer me when I am in a situation so perilous?”

“Yes,” they say in unison.

“You idiot,” Sif says, shaking off Volstagg’s grip and leaning in towards Fandral. She is uncomfortably close to his face when she hisses,  “Bringing the Enchantress back to your chambers is one thing in itself, but allowing her access when you yourself carry items of utmost importance? This is perhaps the maddest thing I’ve heard since Loki sat on the throne!”

“Well, now you’re just being overdramatic,” Fandral says.

“Those rings were family heirlooms! And specially enchanted, from what I've heard. Loki will be so irate, you know how he gets, and then Thor— oh, the entire royal family will be so displeased with you.”

“Yes, I’ve worked that part out on my own, thank you, but now _please_ let us think of what to do to fix this!” Fandral gestures with his arms to emphasize his words. Sif thinks he merely looks even more like a loon. He does look rather crazed with panic, after all. “It is very likely Amora only hid the rings somewhere,” Fandral continues. “She is far too clever to be caught red-handed with them herself.”

“The Enchantress is oft malicious,” Sif agrees, “but she does not wish for a worse punishment than her banishment.”

Ruining the royal wedding and catching the wrath of Loki and Thor is a sure way to do just that.

“We can go to Heimdall,” Hogun suggests. “He will surely know how to locate them.”

Fandral blanches. “That might not be wise. He has grown rather testy recently at our, what did he call it?” He looks to Volstagg. “What did he say that last time we visited him in our search for your prized hunting boar?”

Volstagg hesitates before saying, “I believe he said to look into my stomach, or the sewers once it has been more than two days’ time.”

Sif resists the urge to reach for her sword again. It is a valiant effort. “So he has grown tired of you lot bothering him for every petty whim,” she concludes, with arms crossed.

“Amazing. Those were nearly the exact words, too, Lady Sif.”

Hogun turns to look overhead, observing the great clamor of servants going to and fro. “The ceremony draws close. If we are to accomplish this without informing the royal family, we must search with haste now.”

“No, first we must stall,” Fandral says.

“And how might we do that?” Sif demands.

Hogun lightly clears his throat. “I may have an idea.”

-

“No, never, this is _absurd_.” Sif looks radiant in her outrage.

“Fair Lady Sif— please— “ Fandral, on the other hand, looks cowed by her, and reeks of desperation. His beard is limp and his eyes plead with every fiber of their being.

This goes on for quite some time.

But miraculously enough, after playing the “best of comrades” and “best of us all” and “think of it as for Thor” cards a few more times, Lady Sif assents.

In a voice brooking no argument, lest Fandral is seeking a fate worse than the one he is currently battling, Sif says, “You owe me. Dearly.”

“Loki should be in the bathhouse,” is all Fandral manages to offer back, voice growing meeker with each word.

-

Lady Sif takes a long, deep breath before blurting, “You absolutely mustn't marry Thor.”

The second prince of Asgard merely blinks curious green eyes at her. “Might I ask why not?”

He has just emerged from the bath house, having finished the traditional washing away of his previously unwed status. It seems they are even shorter on time than they thought.

“It— “ Sif pauses, looking away from his gaze. She stares down the hall; at the very least, she can find some relief in its near emptiness. It's only the two of them, standing there with wary expressions on their faces. “It is because I— “

No, she simply cannot do this. This must be Hel, she thinks, or some sort of special, mead-induced nightmare.

“Quickly, if you may, Lady Sif,” Loki says, impatience writ all over his face. He shifts, stance now taut, and his cloths slide against his wet skin. “I have quite a major engagement soon, if you recall.”

“Yes, of course,” she says, steeling herself for what she is about to say. “But— hear my pleas, first. You mustn't marry Thor, for I am desperately in love with you.”

She is not surprised, really, when he laughs, his mirth echoing loudly in the hall. She takes one moment to take in the site of Asgard’s second prince, normally so unhappy unless he is the one making the joke, looking genuinely pleased; she takes another second to feel slightly affronted. “I must say I hadn’t been expecting that one,” he admits. He makes to leave. “Very amusing tease, Lady Sif, but— ”

Sif and the Warriors Three are not stupid, despite what Fandral’s current situation might attest to. They know better than to think that Loki would ever believe such a declaration, not when Lady Sif has made clear her feelings regarding him in the past. Her feelings have always tended to veer towards mild tolerance more than it ever did amicability, much less love; Loki holds no delusions of otherwise.

So they do have a contingency plan for his inevitable disbelief. It’s always good to have one of those around, in any case.

With both hands, Sif roughly grabs him by the neck and kisses him.

-

"Perhaps sending Sif was a mistake," Volstagg muses. "Well, I mean in more ways than one, for Loki clearly prefers the male form."

Fandral makes a noise of agreement, looking contemplative. “Yes, but when Thor finds out about all this, which he surely will, he will be much less likely to try to kill Sif than he would were it any of us three.”

“If the royal family does not punish you later,” Hogun says, “then Sif surely will.”

“She will likely be worse, too,” Volstagg adds.

Fandral snaps back to attention. “Right! The rings, gentlemen! Let us focus on the rings. Where would the Enchantress stow them?”

“Where would we not think to look?”

The Warriors Three glance at each other, shrugging intermittently, and a long stretch of silence ensues. “This is far too difficult an endeavor to take on ourselves,” Hogun finally says, sounding resigned. “Perhaps we should just inform— ”

“No! No informing anyone of anything!” Fandral looks like he is about to be ill. “I’ve an idea. We must traverse— to the Allfather’s vault.”

Volstagg and Hogun shoot him bewildered looks. “But why?”

Fandral is already jogging down the hall and waving his arm behind him, encouraging them to follow. “I don’t know! It seems as good a place as any other to begin with!”

“I believe he is doomed,” Volstagg says mournfully to Hogun as they both trail behind their blond friend.

Hogun merely lets out a small grunt, but it sounds like one of agreement.


End file.
